


absolutes/arrangements

by Anonymous



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Do Not Archive, Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 15:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19065241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: They have a room to themselves. And Zolf doesn’t even really register the fact until Hamid snaps his book shut, walks over, and plants himself on Zolf’s lap.





	absolutes/arrangements

They have a room to themselves. And Zolf doesn’t even really register the fact until Hamid snaps his book shut, walks over, and plants himself on Zolf’s lap. Zolf nearly swallows his own tongue. “I’m bored,” Hamid says nonchalantly. _‘I’m bored’_ Hamid says like he isn’t warm and soft and maybe an inch from Zolf’s face.

Zolf responds, “Uh,” because he’s a little distracted, “I—” he’s not stupid, he knows what Hamid wants, but he’s been caught _very_ off guard, and it takes him a second to collect the words— “can help? With that?” Hamid smiles at him like he’s late to the punchline and leans in to kiss him.

(This isn’t exactly a common thing for them; there’s always something to be done. Or there’s someone too close by. Or Hamid only wants a distraction and can’t quite bring himself to want Zolf. Or any number of reasons, really. This is an arrangement, not a pastime.)

And this isn’t a deep kiss, or a hard one like Zolf was kind of expecting. It’s something bordering on kind. Bordering on gentle. Bordering on soft. Except it can’t be any of those things because Zolf isn’t stupid, because he knows that ‘soft’ isn’t allowed. But he’s allowed to pretend. He pulls back and asks, “Is the door locked?” Hamid groans in dismay. 

It isn’t, then.

“I don’t want to move,” Hamid complains. Zolf laughs. Hamid _does_ get off of Zolf’s lap, with heavy prompting, but he doesn’t go any further than the bed, scowling the whole way. Zolf goes to lock the bedroom door himself. And then he turns back to the bed, and Hamid is still sitting there, looking like the cat that’s got the canary. He reaches up and murmurs, “Come here.” 

(Zolf knows this is an arrangement, knows that _they_ aren’t a thing, knows the possessive grin Hamid gives him is just window dressing. But he’s allowed to pretend. It doesn’t hurt that Zolf is excellent at lying to himself. It doesn’t hurt that Hamid plays along, a tight hand on the back of Zolf’s neck as he kisses him.)

See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: no matter how much Zolf tries to ignore it, Hamid sets his heart racing. See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Zolf can lie to himself forever, but lying to Hamid is a little bit harder.

(See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Zolf might be a little in love, and Hamid certainly isn’t helping with that.)

Hamid slides his hands from Zolf’s neck to the back of his head, winding fingers through his hair as they kiss. And it’s easy, it’s _so easy_ to pretend that this swell of emotion in his chest is reciprocated. 

(It’s like when he would lie in bed at night as a kid and construct elaborate fantasies. Dreamworlds, where he was off sailing, except it was the sea voyage only a child could think up. Salt breezes and clear blue waters and nothing but sunshine. Dreamworlds where he got along with everyone he met and charmed his way through life. Dreamworlds that he’d tear down and reconstruct and rewind because they weren’t quite right. Dreamworlds that only ever hurt, because they were never ever _real.)_

Zolf ignores the warm feeling in his chest and kisses Hamid _hard._ And Hamid is still on his lap, but now all of the smug smiling is gone, and the self-satisfied hums have been replaced by Hamid’s gasps and whimpers. Zolf gets a hold on the hem of Hamid’s shirt and tugs. “Off?” he suggests, because it’s better to let Hamid do it himself. Hamid just clicks his fingers, and the top is gone. It’s very show-offy, but it’s useful enough that Zolf doesn’t particularly mind. Hamid doesn’t seem to mind either; at least, he certainly doesn’t when Zolf starts sucking light marks on the newly exposed skin.

(The first time Hamid had magicked away his shirt like that, Zolf had dragged his hands down Hamid’s chest; Hamid shuddered, and Zolf stopped. He’d made sure Hamid was okay with everything, worried Hamid was just forcing himself through it. Hamid had growled at him, pulled him into a kiss that fried his brain. Zolf is… less worried, now, that Hamid will grit his teeth and bear something he doesn't like. If there’s something Hamid doesn’t like, he makes it _very_ clear.)

Hamid gasps, “Zolf,” and Zolf hums in response. Hamid gives another soft whine, and Zolf is _very_ pleased with his work. _“Zolf,_ please stop,” Hamid says. Zolf breaks away, expecting Hamid to stay still for a moment, try and get back to feeling safe. But Hamid just presses closer and murmurs in his ear, “I’m going to ride you, and that’s going to be very difficult if you’re still dressed.” 

Zolf nearly swallows his own tongue.

He really can’t do anything to encourage that course of action, no matter how much he’d like to, because his brain has _left._ Vanished. Might as well have been dropped over the railing of the airship. Hamid draws back and asks, “If that’s alright?” And Zolf knows by the way Hamid cocks his head that he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. And Zolf knows by the way Hamid draws out the words that he’s having fun doing it. 

(And Zolf knows by the way his own heart stutter-stops that he never did stand a chance.)

“Yeah,” Zolf responds after a bit, “that would be… that would—” he laughs— “fuck, you kind of broke me.” Hamid smiles at him, but it isn’t smug or self-satisfied. No, Hamid smiles at him like he’s something precious.

(See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Zolf lies to himself on a daily basis, and those smiles only ever make it easier. See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Hamid is close enough to feel Zolf’s heart skip a beat and one of these days he’s going to notice it doing so.)

Another finger click, and Hamid’s down to his pants, and he’s making quick work of Zolf’s clothes. Zolf isn’t of any real help, of course. It’s a running experiment, in a way. How wrecked can he make Hamid look? How fast can Hamid fix himself back up? Zolf bites gently at the junction between Hamid’s shoulder and neck. Hamid’s hands still, and he sucks in a deep breath. “Good?” Hamid makes this _noise,_ sounding indignant and needy in equal measure, and Zolf grins. “I hope that’s a yes; I’d like to keep doing it,” he says.

He doesn’t actually wait for an invitation, and Hamid doesn’t actually seem to care. Blunt teeth scrape at wherever they can reach, sharp fingernails scratch at Zolf’s back, soft fingers wind through Zolf’s hair, and Hamid whines and twists in Zolf’s lap. Zolf smiles into Hamid’s throat, and then the air leaves his lungs all at once as Hamid drags him back by his hair. “Stop distracting me,” Hamid warns, voice soft and breathless, and he’s _far_ more attractive than he has any right to be.

And look, Zolf’s brain is basically non-functioning by this point, so he really can’t be blamed when the first thing to tumble out of his mouth is, “Stop being distracted so easily.” Hamid sets his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly before he presses himself almost completely against Zolf, kissing him so resolutely that Zolf almost falls backwards.

_(Impulsive_ is the word that Hamid used to describe himself. He’s _impulsive,_ he rushes into things without thinking of the consequences. _Impatient_ is the word Zolf used to describe him. Hamid is _impatient,_ he needs to have everything as soon as he registers that he wants it.)

Hamid is strong. Not as strong as Zolf is, but he has enough strength for it to _hurt_ when he digs his claws into Zolf’s back. 

_(Hesitant_ is the word Zolf used to describe himself. He’s _hesitant,_ he doesn’t trust himself to have things set out the way they should be. _Methodic,_ is the word that Hamid used to describe him. Zolf is _methodic,_ he thinks things through and considers all of the outcomes.)

“Ah– Hamid, _ow.”_ Hamid lets go, draws back. And there’s something about his face that makes Zolf ask, “Are you mad at me?”

Hamid blinks. “No,” he says, but it comes out guilty.

(Zolf pushed him away in the lock shop, couldn’t stand the feeling of someone _looking_ at them. Looking at Hamid that close to him. Because whatever it is they’re doing, it isn’t something Zolf wants other people to see. For his own sake, mostly, always for his own sake, but he doesn’t want Hamid to have to deal with that. Have to deal with being associated with Zolf. He’s not something Hamid deserves to be associated with.)

Zolf sits the rest of the way up, and Hamid shifts so he can do so. He doesn’t get off, though. He is still _very much_ on Zolf’s lap, but Zolf feels more concrete, now. More ready to deal with things. “What did I do?” he asks, but it isn't a genuine question. He knows.

(Hamid had managed to slur _g’night, love you,_ and Zolf had frozen. Because whatever it is that they’re doing, _it’s not that.)_

Hamid leans in, looking ready to kiss him again so that they can end the conversation. Zolf puts a hand to his chest, keeping him at a distance. After a moment, Hamid sighs. “You just shoved me to the floor,” he mutters, and of course Zolf knows what he’s talking about.

(And look, Zolf isn’t stupid, but he might not be anywhere as wise as he thought. He did, at least, wait until Hamid’s breathing had evened out and his eyes had stopped fluttering vaguely open to murmur back, “You too.” He couldn’t say the third word. He can think it just fine, never stops thinking it, but saying it out loud is too much. Because whatever it is they’re doing—)

“I did. I’m sorry.”

Hamid blinks at him. He looks at a loss for words, and Zolf thinks that’s the first time he’s managed to get that effect without touching him. After a moment, Hamid stammers, “It’s- I mean, it’s not okay, but I forgive you. Just—” he peels Zolf’s hand from his chest— “don’t do it again.”

Zolf promises, “I won’t.” (Hamid is running his thumb across Zolf’s knuckles.) Hamid stares at him a moment, looks him in the eyes, and then he kisses Zolf’s palm. Zolf doesn’t dare to move, doesn’t dare to do anything but stare. Hamid presses small kisses to each of Zolf’s knuckles before taking his index finger into his mouth and sucking. Hamid rolls his hips, and Zolf groans.

(Hamid uses eye contact as a tool. Hamid rocks his hips and Hamid swirls his tongue around and Hamid meets Zolf’s eyes the entire time, and there’s something like a challenge there. He did this in Paris, and apparently, he’s added it to his repertoire of ways to drive Zolf to madness. Hamid always does this, finds something and then exploits it, hanging on to his newfound power with an iron grip. Hamid knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s going to be the death of Zolf.)

Zolf says, “Hamid,” and Hamid slowly, slowly, draws Zolf’s finger from between his lips. He kisses the end of the spit-slick digit, and when he rolls his hips again, the noise that escapes Zolf’s throat sound far more like a whimper than he’d like to admit. “Hamid, seriously,” Zolf says, and then Hamid grinds down in time with a particularly hard suck. “Fuck, that- that’s not fair. You _know_ you’re– you can’t be this perfect.” 

Hamid actually moans around the fingers in his mouth, and Zolf nearly swallows his own tongue. He draws his hand back, and Hamid pouts at him. “I wasn’t—” Zolf slides his wet fingers along Hamid’s wetter entrance— _“done,”_ Hamid gasps, and Zolf starts pulling Hamid’s pants down. Hamid stops him, though, starts fussing with Zolf’s trousers. “Off,” he says, and there’s a slightly desperate note to his voice.

(Hamid looks beautiful when he’s flushed. It’s half the reason Zolf always praises him, tells him he’s _doing so well:_ it makes Hamid’s cheeks glow. That, and Zolf doesn’t know how the hell to shut up.)

Hamid moans, circles his hips, gasps when Zolf scissors his fingers. _“Zolf,_ gods, you– I-I—” His eyes flutter shut, one hand moving to clutch at Zolf’s arm, the other covering his mouth. He’s beautiful.

(Zolf doesn’t say _I love you._ Zolf doesn’t say _I love you._ Zolf doesn’t say _I love you.)_

“Good?” Zolf watches his face carefully, listens to the fervour beginning to creep into Hamid’s whimpers. Hamid gives a high whine, tries to pull Zolf closer, rubs his clit against the heel of Zolf’s hand. Zolf squeezes the base of his dick and tries not to come at Hamid’s noises alone. _You’re so good for me,_ Zolf nearly murmurs, _you’re perfect and you’re_ mine. Zolf doesn’t say it.

(Zolf isn’t stupid.)

Hamid stammers, “Stop, _ah,_ stop, please,” and Zolf withdraws his fingers. Hamid breathes for a second, and then he says, “I still want you to fuck me,” and he’s going to _kill_ Zolf.

Zolf stutter-stops for a second, brain fried. And then he pulls Hamid up, pulls Hamid into a kiss. Hamid makes a small, pleased hum, and then he rises up and _sinks down._

(See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: this isn’t the first time they’ve had sex, but it’s certainly the first time Hamid’s sat on top of him like he was meant to be there. See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Zolf might be a little in love with him, but right now he’s absolutely head over heels.)

_“Hah,”_ Hamid manages, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh; his head drops onto Zolf’s shoulder and he breathes, _“fuck.”_ Hamid doesn’t swear, usually, unless he’s _very_ worked up.

Zolf replies, “In a minute,” feeling _so_ pleased with himself. Hamid laughs, but it quickly turns into a shaky moan. “You good?” Zolf asks. Hamid hums into Zolf’s shoulder. And then he shifts some, and the _noise_ he makes. Self-control is something Zolf prides himself in, which is probably the only reason he hasn’t used his grasp on Hamid’s hips to fuck into him.

Hamid hums, “I’m _so_ good, darling,” and if Zolf smiles like an idiot at the name, then at least Hamid doesn’t see it. And he knows it’s not anything Hamid means, but he’s allowed to pretend. “Just, give me a second.” Hamid shifts again, and he stifles a groan into Zolf’s shoulder. And then he _moves,_ and Zolf chokes on air. Hamid bites down, teeth marking Zolf’s shoulder as he tries to keep himself quiet. 

(See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Zolf takes every bit of affection Hamid is willing to give him, and he tells himself that it’s enough.)

Zolf holds onto Hamid so tight he’s sure there’ll be bruises there tomorrow. And he’ll probably get to see those bruises, because they’re sharing a room. And no one _else_ will get to see those bruises, because it’s a room for them and them alone. 

(See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: this isn’t the first time they’ve had sex, but it’s the first time Zolf has been totally sure Hamid’s actually enjoying himself. See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Hamid almost always starts things because Zolf almost never dares to test the thin ice he’s on. See, here's the thing about this arrangement: Zolf is quickly getting used to it.)

Hamid is beautiful. This is an objective fact. Whether or not you’re attracted to him, he’s attractive. And, Zolf might be a bit biased, but the sounds that escape his throat while he’s fucking himself on Zolf’s cock are beautiful, too. “God,” Zolf says, and he says it right in Hamid’s ear, “listen to you. Do you even know how gorgeous you are?”

And sure, it’s partly for Hamid’s benefit, but it’s mostly genuine. It’s mostly because Zolf has never known how to shut up. Hamid _whines,_ and Zolf pulls him into a searing kiss. And sure, it’s partly to make sure Hamid isn’t too loud, but it’s mostly to guarantee Zolf doesn’t say anything he can’t take back.

“Darling,” Hamid gasps again, but he’s still _moving,_ so how is Zolf supposed to focus on anything else? He doesn’t; he starts kissing Hamid’s neck, and Hamid seems to forget whatever it was he was trying to say. 

(See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Hamid always stutter-stops-restarts his sentences, and Zolf wants to know what he’s talking around. See here’s the thing about this arrangement: Zolf cherry-picks his own words, so he can’t exactly ask. See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Hamid can’t ever know what Zolf is talking around.)

He murmurs, “You’re perfect,” into Hamid’s throat because he doesn’t know how to shut the hell up. He gasps, “You’re amazing; you’re so beautiful like this,” into Hamid’s jaw and he needs to stop talking, he needs to _stop talking_ before his stupid rambling can go any further, “fuck, I think I love you,” and he stops dead. 

But the _noise_ Hamid makes at that.   
But the _kiss_ Hamid gives him. 

(Maybe Zolf didn’t fuck up as bad as he thought. Or maybe Hamid’s just so far gone he hasn’t registered it, yet.)

Hamid doesn’t stop. If anything, he goes faster, and gasping and moaning the whole time, and Zolf might _actually die._ Hamid’s hand moves down to rub at his clit, but Zolf gets there first, moving in hard circles in time with his own thrusts the way he knows Hamid likes. Hamid keens, and he bites into Zolf’s shoulder again. He says something that sounds a bit like _“Zolf,”_ and sounds a bit like _“lover,”_ and sounds more than anything else like a wanton moan. And then he gives a bitten-off cry, and Zolf feels the familiar tightness around his cock, and he’s far too close for Hamid to keep moving like he is. 

_(I love you,_ Zolf said.) 

“Hamid—”

_(Darling,_ Hamid said back, as if the pet name belonged on his lips.)

Hamid kisses him hard, and Zolf spills into him. 

(See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Hamid is so often kind, so often soft, so often gentle to people who could never do enough good deeds to deserve it. See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: Zolf doesn’t know how to be any of those things, not really, but Hamid makes him want to try. See, here’s the thing about this arrangement: as much as they fight, and as often as they disagree, and as little as _this arrangement_ actually means, Zolf would bear the sky on his shoulders if it meant Hamid would be happy.)

Zolf stays where he is for a moment, hands curled into Hamid’s hair, catching his breath against the other man’s mouth. “Sorry,” he murmurs after a bit, “but can you move?” Hamid complies, and they both grimace at the sound that happens when he does. Zolf suggests, “Handkerchief?” Hamid doesn’t need the handkerchief, it turns out, he just flicks his fingers and they’re Prestidigitated clean again. Zolf swears and hisses, _“Ow!_ Yeah, okay, just _burn my dick off,_ that’s fine! Gods, and I thought it was bad when it was _cold.”_ Hamid laughs at him.

(It’s like when they did this out on Hamid’s couch. Zolf had let his feelings get the better of him that time, too. Praise is something that Hamid seems to like; praise is something Zolf doesn’t seem to be able to keep to himself. You’d think, since he was so busy using his mouth, he wouldn’t have time for stupid words and half-formed compliments.)

Hamid clicks his fingers, and he’s wearing a thin robe. “Am I going back to my side of the room?” he asks, and Zolf snorts in derision as he pulls back the covers. That’s not how this has ever happened, because Zolf is an idiot. Even before this was an Arrangement, Hamid was always asked to stay close. Hamid bites down a smile. He slips in next to Zolf, pressing his face into Zolf’s chest and wrapping his arms around Zolf’s waist. And Zolf is hoping that they’ll just ignore it, but his luck regarding Hamid always seems to run out. “You said you loved me,” Hamid whispers. It’s not a question.

_(Lover, darling, good night, love you.)_

The room is silent aside from their breathing and the ship’s mechanical workings. _“Yeah,_ that was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Zolf deflects, “besides, you said you loved me, in the locksmith’s.” It’s not a question. Hamid doesn’t say anything. “It’s fine. Heat of the moment, and all that.” Hamid nods.

“Right,” he murmurs into Zolf’s chest, “heat of the moment.”

_(Darling,_ Zolf thinks, and then he locks that thought up in the chest filled with millions of thoughts just like it. And look, Zolf isn’t stupid, but he’s not as wise as he once thought; he doesn’t wait for Hamid’s breathing to level out before pressing a kiss into his hair. _Love you,_ he imagines saying, and then he locks that image up, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> The two works after this are going to be... vaguely smutty? I don't think they're _as_ explicit, nor do they really focus on it. All about the feelings. Also, the works after this have an incredible amount of spoilers for the Prague Arc, and the final work in the series (which should be posted next Monday) contains spoilers for Rome, so I would avoid it if you aren't caught up.


End file.
